Chapter 4: Escort Under Fire
The transport had been rolling through the passage for about four hours when the first signs of the battle above came into view. First, they passed a few small piles of shrapnel, shredded armor plating from the aircraft that were damaged or destroyed. Eventually, they passed a Belkan Su-27 Flanker, the wreck just laying there, jutting from the sand at an awkward angle. The pilot was splattered all over the front of the craft. November averted his eyes and swallowed a small bit of puke that welled in his mouth. He spat the saliva out the window and looked at Higgins. The stout man's face showed no emotion whatsoever.
The truck continued at a fair pace before it rolled to a stop. November looked out the windshield but saw nothing.
"Higgins, why did you stop the truck? We gotta keep moving!" November was obviously puzzled. Higgins clapped a meaty, calloused hand over November's face and hissed sharply.
"Get under the dashboard."
"Why the he-"
"SHH!" Higgins pushed his burly form into the space under the board, angling in-between the pedals and the bottom of the dashboard. November soon did the same. For a few minutes, the duo sat in tense silence. Then, November heard footsteps crunching on the ground outside the truck. He managed to edge his head up to the bottom of the window frame and peek out. He saw a Belkan soldier moving around outside the truck door. He eventually moved towards the passenger side door- towards November.
"Shit." November hissed. His AK-47 was behind the seat. He fumbled with the holster on his leg and managed to free the MR-444 from it. The door swung open and moonlight filtered in. The Belkan soldier put a foot on the fender and hopped into the cab.
"I wonder what the truck is doing all the way out here?" The soldier wondered aloud, and hauled himself the rest of the way into the vehicle. A booted foot, caked with red sand and dirt descended towards November's head. Another foot descended. They both landed on either side of his head. November held his breath and willed himself not to move. Within seconds, the other soldier climbed into the driver's side.
"Oi, Johan, what was this thing doing all the way out here?" The passenger side soldier asked the driver.
"I'm not entirely sure, Fredrick, but my guess is that it will have something to do with the gunfire we heard earlier." Johan responded, starting the truck and putting on the gas.
"Well, there was a load of Osean pilots in the back. I wonder what could have happened to get this transport so far off course." Fredrick fired up the engine and turned the truck in a braking 180, out onto the main road again. November angled his gun up through the crawlspace, aiming for the Belkan's head. He fired the gun, and the pistol buckled in his hands. He was met with a satisfying gurgle as Johan slipped in his seat, his head moving out of the window. At the same time, Higgins fired his pistol and expertly disabled Fredrick. However, with its driver gone, the truck slid out of control and barreled into the dense undergrowth, stopping abruptly and flinging a halfway standing November into Johan's lap. On the way, November made a grab for the gun behind Johan's seat and pulled the AK-47 out.
"C'mon Higgins, let's get out of here!" Just as November said this, the surrounding hills jumped to life with the sound of gunfire. The canvas flaps in the back were being turned to cheesecloth, and the pilots began to freak out.
"Ooh God, we're gonna die!"
"Someone help us!"
"God spare me! I have kids!"
November leapt out of the passenger side door and pulled his AK-47 up, aiming at the closest muzzle flash. He fired a 3 shot burst from his assault rifle and heard a scream and the thudding sound of a corpse rolling down the hill towards the chaparral where Higgins, November and the pilots were stranded. Another burst of gunfire kicked up the dust at the Captain's feet, and if he had turned any faster, he would've cracked his neck and spine as he raked the hill with gunfire. Adrenaline now flowing freely through his veins, his fight-or-flight response now holding him firmly in place, the Kalashnikov bucked and roared in his hands as every muzzle flash on the hill was met with a withering hail of bullets. November ran out of bullets in one clip, tore the empty one out, smacked another clip into his gun, cocked the weapon and went hog wild, raking the opposite hill with bursts of gunfire.
The fight dragged on for what seemed like hours when it only lasted a few seconds. The hills finally quieted and a panting November sprinted around to the other side of the truck to find the rear tires riddled with gunfire. Higgins had survived the fight, his AK spent, some shrapnel from the battered rear tires sticking out from his flight suit, surrounded by a small halo of blood.
"It's nothing. Let's roll."
"But, Higgins, the truck has been disabled and, no offense, but you're in no condition to drive a tank, let alone a transport truck."
"I said, let's ROLL." Higgins pulled Fredrick's corpse out of the driver's seat and tried to fire up the engine. The old truck's engine turned over, but that was as far as it got. On closer inspection, the hood was riddled with bullet holes.
"Looks like we hoof it from here." November got the pilots out of the back and got them close enough together so that he'd be able to keep track of all of them.